The Better Angels of Our Nature (47 page)

“How is your arm?” he asked.

“Healed, thank you. It was nothing. Jakob told me that you sent word every day asking how I was. But I don’t understand why you couldn’t come yourself, at least once. Were you so busy with your duties?”

“It wasn’t—” he began with a pained expression, and then stopped. “Yes, my duties must come first.”

“But I wanted so much to see you.” She touched his hand and he moved it out of her reach. He stared off into the darkness, unable to look her in the eye. “Thomas, what’s the matter with you? Why have you grown so cold toward me?” She gazed up at the handsome face framed by those distinctive sideburns. The moonlit shadows accentuated the lean manly beauty of his features, yet it was a touchingly boyish face.

“When you see Dr. Cartwright please say I shall look forward to playing that game of chess with him in Vicksburg. I doubt I’ll see him before General Sherman moves out to the Big Black.”

“But you’re going with us?” Jesse’s heart made a leaping motion in her chest. “General Sherman said part of his force will be made up of General McArthur’s division.”

“All but my brigade, which will remain here. We are in the process of digging a massive redoubt deep into the Rebel lines near the Third Louisiana Redan. General Grant is planning a third assault. We will place two thousand pounds of gunpowder beneath the Redan and detonate it as a prelude to the attack, in that way we may establish a foothold inside the enemy fort.” He stared into her blue eyes for a long moment and then seemed to come back to himself with a great effort and moved slightly away from her. The distant sound of a brass band now wafted on the light breeze filling the night with the stirring strains of “Colonel Meeker’s Quickstep.” Above them, the branches gently swayed their ghostly dance against the pale moonlight in the warm night air. His eyes traveled over the top of her head. He had a way of looking at her, as though she alone filled his world. Yet he would not kiss her, would not touch her in a way that would make her feel
alive.
“You’ve cut your hair.” She nodded. “I like it.”

“Did you always prefer long hair before you met me?”

He thought for a minute. “I have no preference.”

“Most men like long hair,” Jesse said.

“I like your hair the way it is.” He brought his hand halfway to her head and then dropped it. He tried again and this time he touched her hair, felt the texture, stooped a little to let the aroma drift into his nostrils, before letting his hand drop. He would remember this when he was alone in his tent late at night. This much he could take unselfishly for himself. “The uniform suits you too.”

She laughed softly, a girlish laughter, coy, yet bold. “Better than a dress?”

“I’ve never seen you in a dress. I’d like to see you one day,” he added, almost dreamily.

“What color?” Her voice was a croak.

“Red gold. The same color as your hair. I’d also like to see your wings, just once.” He smiled to show he was joking, but the look of longing, of sorrow, in his eyes made Jesse gasp.

“I loved it when you kissed me—” She came closer. “Please, kiss me now?”

He held off with one hand. “May I walk you back to the encampment?” he said.

“Oh Thomas—”

He put on his hat. She said,

“No—no—I’ll wait here just a moment longer.”

He nodded. “Good-bye, Jesse. God bless you.”

“Not good-bye!” she called into the darkness. “Not good-bye! How can you give us up easily?”

So the hot, rank, fly- and mosquito-infested month of May had long faded and the hotter rank, fly- and mosquito-infested month of June had taken its place.

On the morning of June 18, news went through the camps like wildfire. John McClernand, the politician-general who had been a thorn in Grant’s side since Fort Donelson, was relieved of his command. McClernand had caused to be printed in the
Memphis Evening Bulletin
a congratulatory order to his troops after the assault of the twenty-second, praising them and casting aspersions upon the loyalty, courage, and leadership of the other two corps. Sherman read the story and had shown Grant a War Department order of the previous year, which forbade the publication of all official letters and reports on pain of dismissal, by the president himself. Grant sent McClernand packing and General Edward O. C. Ord, a recently arrived sober-looking Catholic with impressive gray whiskers, and lifelong friend of Sherman, got the Thirteenth Corps.

“It remains to be seen if McClernand will continue his lies and treacherous ways against Grant and myself with his supporters in Washington,” Sherman said, “but for now and hopefully
forever
he is where he cannot harm this army or its most loyal officers.”

On Saturday, June 20, by virtue of a presidential proclamation, West Virginia officially took its place as the thirty-fifth state of the Union. As though to mark this event there was an especially loud bombardment of Vicksburg by the Federal navy and army in perfect concert, which lasted six hours and left most occupants on both sides temporarily deaf. When the chorus of heavy siege guns ceased, the roar of the mortars took up the repetitive warrior chant, interposed with the occasional but regular crack of those much-loved solo performers on both sides—the sharpshooters. There were always those who thought they could outwit a bullet. Anything, even the risk of death or serious injury, was sought to alleviate the soldier’s worst enemy—
boredom.

William T. Sherman was never bored.

Among his many other skills and accomplishments he was an engineer. When not riding up and down the siege lines checking the entrenchments, talking to his men in the rifle pits, he supervised the digging and breastworks as they extended ever farther toward the Rebels. He spent the nights writing letters, or reading Gibbon’s second volume of
The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,
a treasure that Jesse had exchanged with a Rebel artilleryman for the gold tassel around her new stiff-brimmed hat. That he would live to finish this large tome was a matter for conjecture considering his recent habit of riding along his lines atop the steadfast Sam, in full and unconcerned view of the Rebel marksmen. By now the familiar red-bearded commander had become a favored target. One could imagine sharp-eyed, tousle-haired farm boys eagerly striking wagers against their skill and expertise as to who could finally shoot the scowling Yankee off his horse. Musket balls whizzed past his head with such determined regularity that a story actually appeared in the newspaper reporting the serious wounding, if not death, of Major General William T. Sherman, commander of the Fifteenth Corps. It was a report so convincing that it had apparently caused Old Abe much apprehension and dismay, until it was proved to be, like most newspaper reports, complete humbug.

The general’s stubbornness in ignoring all pleas from his staff to exercise a little more caution in his daily inspection tours, and the direct admonition from Mrs. Sherman “to keep his head down,” had brought the following retort from her husband:

As to my exposing myself unnecessarily, you need not be concerned. I know where danger lies and where I should be. Soldiers have a right to see and know that the man who guides them is near enough to see with his own eyes, and that he cannot see without being seen.

As for Jesse, she was uncharacteristically and increasingly preoccupied these days.

Since the night of the concert, she had written a barrage of notes to Thomas Ransom. They had begun as reasonable requests to meet with him so they could talk. But with no response the wording of the notes had grown to desperate pleas, begging for an explanation as to why he no longer sought her company. If you do not reply, her last note had said, I will visit your headquarters.

Finally, he had responded, but not in a manner she had expected. His severity had shocked her. He had written,

“Please cease your correspondence. It is both dangerous and inappropriate under the circumstances. I have replied. Do not visit my headquarters. There is nothing to be gained by our meeting or talking.”

Of course, it was like a flashing cape to an already maddened bull.

24

And all the gods go with you

As Jesse rode into Ransom’s camp that morning the ever-amiable Captain Dickey, Ransom’s best friend, came to meet her.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Jesse.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” She had neither the time nor patience for niceties. “Is Thom—is General Ransom here? Would you tell him it’s me.”

“You seem agitated, is everything all right?”

“I’m not agitated.” Jesse could not keep the insistent irritation from her voice. “Only I must speak with the general.”

“Yes, of course.”

An orderly took Jesse’s horse and in a few seconds Dickey emerged from the brigade commander’s tent with a very confused and discomforted expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, Jesse, General Ransom extends his apologies. He is just about to begin an inspection tour of the parapets.”

“I’ll wait.”

Dickey watched in surprise as Jesse walked with decisive step to the campfire and sat down. He went back into Ransom’s tent and a moment later joined the girl.

“Lieutenant Davis, I spoke to the general again and he says he has a few moments to spare.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Jesse had sprung up and was going toward the Vermonter’s tent. Dickey’s frown deepened as he watched her.

The Vermonter was standing behind his desk, perhaps to keep something solid between her and him, and his thickly veined hand gripped the top as if to steady himself.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded of her, his handsome face pale and his eyes flashing with anger. “Didn’t you get my note? I told you not to come here.”

“I got your note.” Jesse could hardly breathe. She tore the paper from her pocket and flung it on the desk. “I got it, and I’m trying to understand it. I’m trying to understand
you.
”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing to understand.”

“I’m confused. I feel as if all light has gone out in the entire world. I can’t eat and I can’t sleep. What are you doing?” she said hopelessly. “This isn’t you. I refuse to believe this is you. Why are you treating me this way? What’s happened to you? To us?”

“I’ve come to my senses, that’s what’s happened.” He stared at her stricken face and lowered his intense gaze to his hand on the desk. He tried, and failed to stop the hand from trembling. “I simply cannot have any relationship with a young woman who has attached herself to a general during a war, as you have done.”

“It never bothered you before.”

“How would you know, you’ve never asked me. How can it not bother me to hear that you’ve been captured by the enemy? How can it not bother me to know that you are riding around the country dressed as a boy, exposed to all manner of pain and suffering, in danger every second that you remain here?”

“I assumed—” She stopped and frowned.

“Yes. You assume too much.”

“Did I assume you had special feelings for me?”

“Dr. Cartwright—” he began.

Jesse waited. “What about him?” she said. “What did he tell?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know. Nothing I can’t see with my own eyes. I’m not blind, Jesse.”

“Oh, but you are, blind and deaf.”

“He needs you,” Ransom declared forcefully.

“And all
you need
is another star on your shoulder, is that it?”

“It’s for the best.”

“How can it be for the best when we’re both so unhappy? Why are you doing this? I’m begging you—”

“Don’t beg. I’ve made up my mind.” Suddenly he became composed. The tremor in his hand subsided. He stood erect as if to emphasize the strength of will that had gone into his decision. “You really will have to go, Jesse. I have an inspection tour to make.”

She gazed up into his eyes that, despite his declared intent, were swimming. She tried to take his hand but he shook her off. “Is it because I was too forward, too brazen with you? Because I can be demure, like the sweetest of females. You wanted to see me in a dress—I can find one and have my likeness taken all on my own. Tell me what I’ve done wrong and I’ll put it right—only don’t send me back to sleep again—I couldn’t bear it.” She was crying now, tears were streaming down her face.

“Jesse, for God’s sake stop it. You’ve done nothing wrong, please believe me, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then why won’t you love me anymore?”

“I told you!” He glanced toward the entrance and then lowered his voice to say again, “I told you.”

“You haven’t told me anything. After we leave here I’ll write to you every day. I don’t care if you tear up my letters and never reply. I don’t care if they send you halfway across the country. I’ll keep writing until you change your mind. I can’t sleep—I can’t concentrate—if you only knew how I—” Suddenly she raised a trembling hand to her brow and seemed to stagger. “Oh no—” she murmured as Ransom reached for her elbow.

“Jesse—what is it? Are you sick?”

“Sick? No—” She tried to focus on his anxious face. “The general—”

“What general?”

“What have I done?” She stared at him distractedly before walking unsteadily out of his tent.

He followed her to the corral and watched her climb aboard her horse, saying, “Jesse, what in heaven’s name—?”

She rode out of his camp without a word of explanation.

“Jesse—I’ve been…waiting for you,” Sherman said in his hoarse voice, now slightly faltering, and unmistakably relieved. He was sitting on the edge of his cot, his blouse outside his pants, his usually red face as drained of color as she had ever seen it, his raw features pinched.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—can you ever forgive me?” She placed her medical haversack on the floor by the cot. She had come prepared.

“Forgive you? Why, it wasn’t your fault.” He laughed and grimaced with pain. “A lucky shot, a well-aimed Rebel ball. They were flying everywhere this morning. They were waiting for me. They’ve had old Sherman in their sights for days now. You know that. It’s nothing.”

Jesse knelt down on the floor and carefully drew his blouse aside. There was a rip in the red woolen long johns just above his narrow waist under his right arm and the area was stained with fresh blood. It was still bleeding. She helped him off with his blouse and ripped the upper part of the long johns around the wound. Then she made him lie down on the cot and hold a wad of lint there while she went for fresh water, telling him, “Please don’t move.”

“Jesse—” He gripped her arm. “Tell no one. Not even Captain Jackson. I hid it well. My staff scattered as the firing began. No one noticed. I don’t want them to say I told you so.”

She nodded.

Her hands would not remain steady as she cleaned the edges of the wound. It wasn’t so bad, no, not so bad. He’d lost some blood, but it had stopped now and persistent, if painful prodding had convinced her there was nothing left in the wound to inflame it, not metal nor pieces of clothing. The ball had taken a small piece of flesh with it as it went by, but it would heal well if she kept it clean. She had already had him swallow some morphine with several glasses of water.

“Why are you so nervous?” Sherman asked from his prone position, a cigar wedged into the corner of his mouth. She was being uncharacteristically clumsy. “It would require something far more serious than this to kill off old Sherman.”

“You said you would be postponing your daily ride along the siege lines until after your meeting with General Grant.”

“I said I would be going directly from the siege lines to General Grant’s headquarters,” Sherman declared irritably. “What damn difference does it make, anyhow?”

“I should have seen this was going to happen—I was distracted,” she said, placing a gauze dressing against the wound, which fell to the floor. Even her doctoring skills were failing. She tossed the gauze aside, cut a fresh one and held it there with strips of sticky plaster. “It will never happen again.”

“That’s most comforting, or at least it would be if I thought you had any control over such matters.” His hiccuping laughter seemed to assault her ears, to add to her guilt and shame.

She stood up abruptly and glared at him. “Do you think this is a subject for laughter? Do you think what happened to you today, because of me, because I allowed myself to become obsessed by matters that should not even have been on my
mind,
let alone totally occupying it, is somehow
amusing
?”

“Jesse, what in the devil has gotten into you? You will get ahold of yourself. It’s a scratch, nothing more.”

“It’s
not
serious, because I came to my senses just in time—if I had taken a moment longer the entire course of the war would have been changed.”

“Stop jabbering!”

She gave him a glass of whiskey. “For the shock. When the morphine wears off you’ll have pain. This will ease it.”

He drained the glass thirstily and held it out. “We cannot know how quickly the morphine will wear off, or how bad the pain will be,” he said wiggling the glass.

She started to laugh then, and could not stop, could not restrain herself, and in the midst of all the hysterical laughter came the tears and she found herself laughing and crying at the same time as Sherman lay there with his empty glass extended, his cigar drooping, staring at her as though she had finally, inevitably, gone stark raving mad.

By June 16, speculation had ended as to whether or not Lee was going to invade Pennsylvania. His Army of Northern Virginia had continued to move north into Maryland and crossed the Potomac. To meet this threat Mr. Lincoln had called for militia from Ohio, Maryland, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania itself, where families were departing in droves, crowding onto the cars, with all they could carry. In Washington, Mr. Lincoln was offering Hooker advice on how to fight Lee. Rumors of Fightin’ Joe’s death had been exaggerated. He was moving northward but couldn’t
find
the Rebel army. He had then announced to the papers and to his president, “Now is the time to march to Richmond.” Mr. Lincoln had replied, “I think
Lee’s
Army, and not
Richmond
is your true objective point. Fight him when opportunity offers. If he stays where he is, fret him, and fret him.” In the event, it was Mr. Lincoln who fretted.

Hooker meanwhile, instead of girding his loins for the coming battle, had told the president, “It is not in my power to prevent invasion.” A statement that must have cheered Mr. Lincoln and the loyal citizens of Baltimore, Maryland, and Pennsylvania, waiting in trepidation for the enemy to pour over their borders.

In Louisiana, Banks too wasn’t having much luck. He had called once more upon Port Hudson to surrender. They’d refused and at dawn on June 14 he ordered an assault. This, his second assault, failed as miserably as the first. The shocking disparity between Federal and Rebel casualties, 1,792 blue-clad and 47 gray-clad, seemed to prove conclusively that attacks against entrenched enemy positions brought only slaughter for the attackers. Now two Rebel strongholds were under siege along the Mississippi.

On the morning of June 18, exactly one month to the day since the army invested Vicksburg, General William T. Sherman led his Expeditionary Army out of the Federal encampment around the Walnut Hills to an encampment on the Big Black, twenty miles to the northwest of the city. Here he would keep an eye on Joe Johnston, and if the Rebel general moved to help Pemberton, the Ohioan would be there to stop him.

From his headquarters at Bear Creek, Sherman daily rode the circuit of his command, visiting outposts and pickets, questioning spies and deserters and civilian informers, constantly on the lookout for news of Joe Johnston’s anticipated move to reinforce Pemberton.

Although small groups of gray-clad horsemen and infantry could be seen camped on the east side of Big Black, openly facing their blue-clad opponents, there was no sign of the large force that was rumored to be gathering at Canton, twenty miles to the northwest. This did not surprise Sherman, as he told his commanders, “However important Vicksburg might be to the Rebels, Joe Johnston is too intelligent a commander to throw his men onto fortified entrenchments and risk losing one army to save another, and possibly lose both.”